


A Silver Kitten

by She_Who_Must



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Pudding, Romance, Some angsty bits, kittens are magical, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_Who_Must/pseuds/She_Who_Must
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape finds a cat in his home. Later on, there is magic in the air, in more than one way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An April Kitten

It was on a dreary April morning that Severus Snape looked up from the instructions for a particularly tricky potion and found that there was a kitten on his desk. It was just sitting there, happily, looking him straight in the eye without the slightest trace of shyness or fear. He’d never heard it come in, or seen it jump on the desk. It didn’t seem in the least bothered by his perplexed look. Instead, the moment it had his attention, it promptly began to produce a soft, relaxed purr, with a tiny melodious note every once in a while.

Snape looked closer, unsure if the creature was even real. It seemed so impossibly happy. Its gently gleaming silver fur reminded him of relinquished memories. When it closed its bright green eyes, he felt both relieved and deprived. As he peered even closer, the kitten suddenly bumped its nose against his.

He jumped back. The kitten’s eyes widened. And then it meowed. It had obviously trained long and hard to achieve the perfect meow, for Severus Snape had never in his existence heard a more endearing sound. It almost made him become sentimental. He wanted to hug the little thing.

“How the hell did you get in here, then?” he asked, mentally squishing any gentler feelings that were bubbling up. The kitten did not answer, but basked in his attention as only kittens can.

He decided he just couldn’t have a cat stalking around his house, ruining potions with carelessly scattered cat hair, or sharpening its nails on the backs of priceless leather tomes. He carefully picked it up and put it outside. As he went back to the potion he’d been about to brew, he couldn’t help but wonder how a silly little cat had gotten past the wards on his doors and windows. He also wondered how any creature could be so unbelievably soft.

Later in the afternoon, as he was enjoying a quiet moment on the loo, one of these mysteries was revealed when the kitten jumped in through the small bathroom window. It was a six-foot-high jump, so Snape was impressed. He finished his business, warded the window, and then proceeded to give the cat a saucer of milk in the kitchen. The milk was greedily lapped up, and Snape pondered on the fact that even cats seem to enjoy the most those things that aren’t good for them. Perhaps that, he thought, was why this young creature sought his company.

His broodings were cut short as the silver kitten unceremoniously climbed up his leg, and then clambered all the way up to his shoulder. Then it purred peacefully in his ear. Snape quickly stopped his attempts to remove it when he realized this could not be done without serious damage to his clothes and skin. For such a cute creature, the feline had fiendishly sharp nails. And besides, even though it was quite unsanitary, he found he rather liked having the little ball of fur on his shoulder.

Upon passing a shop window two weeks later, Snape’s eye fell on a small notice. He had expected it. He had even forced himself to look out for it. But now as he read “Missing: silver-grey kitten” he felt a sharp pang of regret. The next line of the notice, “Listens to the name of Albus”, made his nostrils flare in sudden fury.


	2. A Meeting of Ailurophiles

It was a gentle afternoon in May when Hermione Granger stumbled through her hallway, opened her front door, and found a sullen Severus Snape standing on the other side. Her jaw dropped. His left eyebrow rose. She tried to collect herself.  
“Er … Professor?”  
“Not quite anymore, no,” he said coldly.  
“I – you –”  
He waited patiently until the flustered young woman would stop stuttering. He even managed to keep his foot from tapping in annoyance. She was staring at him as though he’d only just risen from the dead. However, as that particular feat of his had been smeared all over the newspapers for months, it could hardly be a surprise for her.  
“So, er, to what do I owe this honour?” she asked at last.

“I came to bring you this,” he said coldly, gesturing towards the wicker basket in his left hand. Her gaze travelled downwards, haltingly, for it was caught by the many details of his changed appearance. He’d let his hair grow longer, and the black strands, interwoven with steel grey, were bound back from his face. He wore a long black overcoat, muggle style, covering his gaunt frame much like his robes used to do. At last her eyes fell on the basket, where she found the emerald green eyes of the kitten staring back at her.

“Albus!” she cried, dropping to a crouch. Snape did not release his hold on the basket when she grabbed it.  
“Yes. Albus,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.  
She ignored him.  
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, you little naughty, you!” she crooned.  
To Snape’s dismay, the kitten started purring. His knuckles turned white around the handle of the improvised cat carrier.

At last Hermione noticed his reluctance to let go of the cat. At the same time she also realized that her current position, sitting on her knees before her former teacher, was somewhat inappropriate. She scrambled to her feet, blushing.  
“Do come in,” she said, holding the door wide open for him to enter. He hesitated a moment, and then, his posture rigid as a statue, stepped over the threshold.

She guided him through her sitting room, feeling a mounting embarrassment at the disastrous mess, to the kitchen. At least her kitchen was somewhat tidy. He sat at the table with the basket in his lap.  
“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked. “Coffee? Um – tea, maybe? Or -”  
“Tea will do,” he interrupted her.

She could feel his gaze burning on her back as she put the kettle on. But still, she was grateful to have a moment to put her racing thoughts in order. This was Severus Snape, sitting in her kitchen. Snape. After his miraculous recovery two years ago, he had completely fled the public eye. For all she knew, he might have moved to Argentina. She would have understood if he had. Yet here he was, sitting on one of her old muggle kitchen chairs, clutching a basket containing her precious kitten. Her Albus, whom she’d only had for a month when he disappeared without a trace. 

She felt a twinge of guilt at the name she'd chosen for her pet. Perhaps, in light of recent events, naming it Albus had been a little – inconsiderate. She wondered if that alone was the reason why a deathly pale Snape now sat staring out the kitchen window, looking absolutely lost and desolate. Or did it have something to do with the tiny paw that was playfully clawing at his leg?

***

Snape had trouble thinking straight. For some reason he had not just given away the cat as he had planned. Instead he was sitting in Granger’s kitchen, and noticed that she probably hadn’t cleaned the windows in ages. Her sitting room too had been a mess of books and papers strewn over every chair and table. Albus belonged here, in this carefree mess. He tried to banish all thought of soft silver fur and bright green eyes. That would have been easier if the kitten hadn’t been trying to flay him, with its usual happy heartlessness. 

“How did you find him – my cat?” Granger asked, her voice shrill in the quiet kitchen.  
He cleared his throat.  
“He found me, so to speak” he said.  
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
"He invaded my bathroom.”  
“He did what?” she asked perplexed.  
“You heard me,” he said. “He jumped in through the bathroom window. I put him outside. He came in again. And again. I gave up trying to dissuade him.”  
“So he’s been with you all this time?”  
“If by ‘all this time’ you mean a fortnight, then yes.”  
Shaking her head incredulously, she reached for the cat.  
“Do you mind?” she asked.  
He stared at her reflection in the window. She was once again kneeling beside him. A head of unruly curls bent towards the basket, a slender arm stretched out to the kitten. He let her take it.

“Oh, you lovely kitty,” she crooned into the silver fur. “I was starting to get quite desperate, you know. I’d only just lost Crookshanks – my half-kneazle – perhaps you’ve seen him once? Anyway, I bought Albus after Crooks died. And then he just went and disappeared.”  
“So you said,” he said.  
She sighed at the comfort of the purring cat in her arms, and Snape felt a twinge of some emotion he really did not care to identify further.

Just then, the kitten decided it had had enough of being smothered in affection. It squirmed free from her arms and jumped onto the table in a cloud of fine silver hair.  
“Well, at least he won’t be shedding all over my lab anymore,” the potions master sighed.  
“Professor…” she began, then hesitated. “Should I call you professor? Or Mr. Snape or – Severus?”  
“It doesn’t matter. So long as you don’t call me an overgrown bat to my face, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”  
“Um, right. So Severus, then. Right. I kind of get the impression, sort of, that you – um – really like my cat. I mean, that you even would have liked to keep him. Do you? I mean - would you - have - erm -” Her question fizzed away like spilled lemonade.

He bit back a scathing retort and just shrugged instead. There was an unsuitable amount of care shining in her all too intelligent eyes. It made him feel uncomfortably exposed.

“He really seems to like you,” she smiled. “You must have taken good care of him.”  
“There is no art in taking care of a cat. You leave it alone most of the time and feed it when it gets annoying.”  
“I was just wondering if – um – if you’d like to baby-sit him sometime, maybe?”  
“Daft woman,” he muttered.  
“Why is that daft? You do like him, don’t you?”  
“Yes, miss Granger, I do 'like' this feline,” he sighed in exasperation. "But what would make you invite me to 'baby-sit' it is beyond me."

He ran a tired hand over his face, stretched, and seemed about to get up, when Hermione frantically interjected, “Um, I did promise a reward too. And since you’ve been so kind as to take care of Albus and bring him back to me –“  
“I don’t care for your rewards, Miss Granger.” Snape said coldly.  
“That would be Hermione. If you’re to be Severus, you’ll call me Hermione. And I insist. On the reward, that is. Well, on that as well. There must be something I can pleasure you with?”  
“Pleasure me with?” he asked, his left eyebrow rising high.

She blushed.  
“Well I meant, uh, there must be something that you might like or enjoy or value positively – yes! - that I can give or perform or otherwise provide you with.” She stumbled over her words in an attempt to find a less suggestive description, but was starting to get a bit panicky at her ineptitude. He kept steadily staring her down until she practically squirmed under his scrutiny. It was oddly endearing how her blush spread all the way down to her neck.

“Well, I could think of a thing or two,” he said at last.  
She didn’t answer, just looked at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching lorry. Though he couldn't imagine a rabbit biting its lip like that. It was - distracting. At last he decided to deliver her from her suffering and continued, “Sticky toffee pudding, for one, would be most pleasing. One of the few things I miss about Hogwarts. Are you at all adept in a kitchen, Miss Granger?”  
“It’s Hermione,” she said. She was still blushing madly. He couldn’t help but smile. Even when mortified, she still insisted on the proper form of address.


	3. Pudding and an Unexpected Encounter

He smiled. Hermione wanted to smack herself in the face to check if she was dreaming, but then she'd probably come across as a total lunatic. She'd already made enough of a fool of herself. But the fact remained, Severus Snape was smiling – a strange crooked half-smile, that did things to her she would never have expected it to. Just as she hadn’t expected the sudden rush of arousal when she’d heard his low voice rumble, ‘Pleasure me?’ It hadn’t been an invitation, clearly, surely, though a treacherous part of her was wishing that it had. She didn’t think she could possibly blush more.

“Or spotted dick,” he continued, “I’ve always had a soft spot for spotted dick.” Laughter glittered in his black eyes. “How about you?” he asked.  
“Severus Snape!” she said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were making fun of me!”  
“And why shouldn’t I be?”  
Laughter tore at her mortification, until she couldn't help giggling.  
“Alright then, let’s see what I can do,” she said, and quickly summoned a cooking book from the living room. Albus tried to grab it as it zoomed through the air towards her. Snape smiled again. Hermione felt her insides melting. She just hoped it didn’t show too much.

“Back to this ‘babysitting’ thing,” he said after a long silence, distracting her from the recipe's instructions. “Though I would indeed not mind looking after your pet, do you not think it might object to being shifted from one owner to the other?”  
“That’s possible,” she said, keeping her eyes on the book.  
“And then what?” he asked.  
“Then we re-evaluate, I guess.”  
“Re-evaluate. I can see that you work for the ministry. So how do you intend to go about this babysitting? Should I come fetch the feline, or do you think you could endeavour some effort in this enterprise as well?”

“Well, sure, of course, though I will have to know where to bring him…”  
“Ah yes, the part where you ask for my current whereabouts –“  
“- And where you are very reluctant to give them?” She grinned.  
“Yes. That. Though I suppose I can trust you not to divulge the information to third parties.”  
“Of course,” she said, slightly affronted. "If you don't want me to tell anyone, I won't. You should know I'm not the sort to -"  
“Of course, miss Granger.” He leaned forward, towards the kitten on the table. Thoughtfully, his long fingers stroked the silver tail. He was so close now she could catch his scent, just a table and a small cat in between them. She found herself quite distracted from her quest for sticky toffee pudding. Though somehow, from the look in his eyes as he looked up at her, she didn’t think he minded.

***

Two hours had passed, and he was still in Granger’s kitchen, as though he didn’t have anything better to do. But Albus had crept into his lap, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb the kitten’s slumber. Moreover, there was something very pleasant about watching Granger’s attempts to create his pudding of choice.

The day was getting late, and the fading sunlight gave her hair a golden sheen. It had been tied up at some point, but wayward curls were now spilling out everywhere, brushing along the pale skin of her neck. It reminded him of old paintings, though this had something of a wild, lively extra touch. The heavenly smell from the oven and the girl’s quiet humming completed the cosy domestic scene. 

It made him at once wistful and very wary. Surely such a scene as this could not contain him? She cast a quick look at him.  
“If you’re bored, I can get you a book or something. Should I?”  
“I’m not bored,” he answered. “I find it oddly entertaining to watch your culinary exploits.”  
He watched her blush deepen.

His conscience was getting more and more troubled as the evening progressed. He was actually flirting with this young thing. Granted, she wasn’t exactly a teenager any more, but he still had no right whatsoever to have the – thoughts – that kept on cropping up whenever his eyes were drawn to her shapely backside. He should have just left hours ago, he thought, and yet he still couldn’t bring up the effort to do so now. Strangest of all, she actually seemed to enjoy his licentiousness. And as an extra argument against leaving, he had Albus, who made painfully endearing mewling sounds whenever he even thought of getting up. 

The tea had gone cold. He decided to drink the bitter brew anyway by way of punishment for his inertia. But just then, the scene was crudely disturbed by a series of loud noises from the sitting room, and Albus fled in a flurry of hair and nails.

“Oh god, no! Not now!" Hermione screeched, and, with a quick parting look at her simmering sauce, she rushed into the other room.  
“Ronald Weasley,” he heard her yell, “what have I told you about flooing in unannounced? I swear I’ll just have my floo disconnected if you keep doing this!”  
“Hmm, what smells so good?” he heard the boy reply. And then the head of the ginger wretch appeared, peeping in around the kitchen doorway. Hermione rushed back in, swearing.  
“For crying out loud, Ron, honestly! I’ll kill you if my sauce is spoilt!”

Ron had frozen in the doorway, staring at the unexpected guest. His dumbfounded look slowly morphed into a frown.  
“Snape?” he asked, in a tone as though he had just been mortally insulted. “You’re making pudding for Snape?”  
“So what if I am?” she retorted.  
Severus shot the youth an evil glare. That insolent brat had just frightened his cat. Well, her cat, but that was a minor detail. It was still an offence punishable by eternal suffering. He pondered on how to best make the little twerp's life miserable.  
“You never ever make anything for me, but you’ll make stuff for the bat of the dungeons?!”  
Oh yes, Snape thought, that boy would definitely suffer.

“Don’t call him that, you idiot. He just rescued my cat! And even if he hadn’t, who the hell do you think you are, anyway, charging in here and offending my guests?”  
“I’m your friend! Or I thought I was,” he answered lividly.  
“My friend, yes. And does that give you the liberty to insult my other friends?”  
“Jeez, Hermione, to make pudding for the man is one thing, but now he’s your friend on top of that? Just look at him! He looks like he could kill me right now!”  
“Well, duh, genius, I could kill you right now, if I weren’t afraid to ruin my pudding.”  
“I’m sure it would be fine,” Snape said in a low drawl, “and even if it were ruined, I’d readily forgive you.”  
For a moment, Hermione was taken aback, and then a smile dawned on her face like a Scandinavian sunrise. “You know, I think I actually love you, Severus Snape,” she blurted.

Snape froze instantly, and Ron’s eyes bulged so much, it looked like they would pop out of his skull.  
“You what?” the Weasley boy squeaked, breaking the silence.  
“Love him,” she said boldly, looking Ron straight in the eye, and continued, “and so what if I do?”  
“You’re bonkers,” he muttered.  
At this point Snape interceded, “Let the lady love whomever she pleases, Weasley. After all, there are no rules in love and war, are there?”

The inflections of his velvet voice brought to mind the gleam of a perfectly sharpened guillotine blade.  
Weasley went white, and then gradually redder. His eyes went to and fro between the two other occupants of the kitchen, one as red as he, in a mixture of infinite embarrassment and rage, the other stony-faced and pale. At last he brusquely turned away, and fled back through the floo with a great deal of clatter and noise.


	4. Flirtations, Pseudonyms, and Then Some

In the ensuing calm, Hermione devoted her full attention to getting the sauce just right. Just a few more moments and the cake would be ready. Timing was crucial now, so not the best moment to get distracted by – other things. Like the pair of black eyes she could feel burning on her back.  
The timer sang. With feverish movements she freed the cake from its tin, divided portions, poured the sauce. Why wasn’t he saying anything, she wondered. And why did you need three hands to get this infernal recipe done properly? Just some more chopped-up nuts to finish things off, and at last the sticky toffee pudding was done. She turned to face Snape’s scrutiny.

He seemed deep in thought. Not insulted or mortified, nor grinning or - god forbid - leering. She sighed in relief and put a portion of steaming pudding in front of him.  
“Thank you,” he said softly.  
She impatiently awaited his judgement as he set to savouring his prize.  
“It seems acceptable,” he said at last. “Though you forgot to add ice cream, and the texture needs improvement. If you want to perfect this one, you still have a lot of work to do.”  
She felt a bit disgruntled. After all that effort, that was all he could say?

He surprised her with a faint smile, murmuring, “So, Weasley didn’t much like that, eh?”  
“Heh, no. He does have a teensy bit of a jealous streak.”  
“I can well understand that,” he said, with a peculiar fire in his look.  
“Well, um, I hope I didn’t embarrass you or anything.”  
“Did I look embarrassed?”  
“No, actually,” she said, “you rather looked – a bit shocked, really.”  
“It was unexpected,” he said, "and I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking myself. If I may be so brutally honest, you seem to be impairing my better judgement."

She didn't manage to stutter up a coherent reply, but he ignored her inarticulacy, instead musing, “I rather wonder why an intelligent young woman like yourself would go about saying the things she did, though. And to a former lover too. Are you using me as a pawn in your little war?”  
“Um. No,” she said, ”I did – mean – what I said. Then.”  
“But not now?” His tone was light and teasing.  
“Why are you even asking?” she retorted.

“Ah.” He seemed to ponder the reply, and then said, “I find myself both puzzled by your exclamation, as well as – slightly intrigued.”  
She stared at him. He stared back.  
“Are you propositioning me?” she asked at last.  
“Were you?” he replied.  
“I didn’t intend to –“ she hesitated.  
“Is there a ‘but’ implied there?”  
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “There is.”

“So does Weasley often come barging into your living room like that?” he promptly changed the subject. The tension between them deflated instantly, to her mixed relief and disappointment. She took a deep breath to steady herself.  
“As a matter of fact he does,” she said. “It drives me mad. I’ve already considered just disconnecting from the floo network, but then that wouldn’t be handy for my ministry work. And the only Ron-specific wards I can think of would be very unpleasant for him –“  
“He’d survive, I’m sure,” Snape smirked.  
“Yeah. Well. I’m not really into the torturing of former lovers. Even if they’ve been complete dicks.”

“Neither am I, despite any evidence that might point at the contrary.”  
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Or are you referring to – um – that whole business with – ah.”  
She suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable. This was what you might call a volatile subject, and Snape wasn’t exactly known to handle it very well. But he surprised her by calmly completing her question. “Lily Potter. Indeed. I would not normally be inclined to mention it, but since all the intimacies of my past love life, or lack thereof, have already been smeared widely across every newspaper in Britain, I don’t see why I should still cherish such reservations.”

She shifted uneasily in her chair. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”  
“I am aware of that.”  
“Um – well – it’s just –“  
“Don’t want to hear the private confessions? Afraid it wouldn’t go with the image you have of me as the dark bat of the dungeon?”  
She winced. “Please don’t say that,” she protested.  
‘And why not? I know very well what my reputation and nickname were, Miss Granger.”  
“That doesn’t mean you have to just go with it. And it’s Hermione.”  
“Why do you insist on that form of address?”  
“Otherwise I’ll start calling you professor again. Old habits die hard.”  
“Indeed they do,” he said, “Hermione. Anyway, there’s worse things to be called than a bat.”

Hermione Granger could have imagined many people with whom to exchange embarrassing childhood anecdotes, but Snape had never been one of them. They moved from that to stories about the ministry's ineptitude, where she proceeded to search for the most adequate nicknames for her various employers. Over a fresh pot of tea, Snape told her that he was now in fact working for the daily prophet, writing a bi-weekly contribution to the household tips section called “Potions 101”, along with the occasional opinion piece about the ever-decaying state of Wizarding Britain. 

“How odd,” she mused, “I've never noticed any of those articles.”  
“I didn’t sign them with my own name, of course, and they are such bland everyday nonsense that they can easily pass unnoticed.”  
“So what's your pseudonym then?”  
“B. Wayne.”  
“B?”  
“Short for Bruce.”  
“But – isn’t that –“ a wide grin slowly spread over her face.  
“Indeed,” he said, “I’m batman.”  
She dissolved into laughter.

***

He watched her wipe the tears from her eyes.  
“Sorry,” she giggled. “That was funny.”  
“You don’t say."  
Apparently his raised eyebrow was also quite amusing, for she lost control again, and it took several minutes before her giggling fits had subsided sufficiently for her to be able to talk again. He spent those minutes studying her over steepled fingers, wondering at the bizarre building attraction he felt towards the giggling witch. 

“Sorry,” she said again. “I don’t know why that cracked me up so much. Um. Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”  
Before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself blurting out, “Would you mind an awful lot if I kissed you?”

She stared at him with open mouth, then blinked a couple of times. She did not yell, or look at all displeased, just very much surprised. He sat rigid, waiting, trying to keep his rising panic under control.  
The silence took agonizingly long. He could hear her swallow slowly.  
“Yes,” she whispered at last, then realized that was an ambiguous answer, and continued, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind, I’d even – I’d like that very much.“  
She was biting her lip again, a gesture he had never before found quite so interesting. He stood up, much too abruptly, making his chair scrape loudly on the floor, stepped towards her, and for a moment didn’t quite know what to do. She, eyes shining, lips parted like blasphemous rose petals, rose from her chair, closed the remaining distance between them, and reached up to place her mouth very gently against his. 

He felt oddly detached, even as he was overwhelmed by the ensuing sensations. She was soft, it registered somewhere in his brain, and warm. She moved her lips slowly, without the slightest hurry, as though she was savouring the moment. Cautiously, he sucked at her decadently luscious lower lip. She melted against him. Her light moan sent his blood rushing down, and instinct took over.

One hands slipped underneath her jumper to discover more tantalisingly soft skin, while the other was buried in thick curls. He moved his attention down her jaw, on to her neck - so unbearably smooth - inhaled her scent, groaned with mad arousal when she moaned again – and by that sound was suddenly shocked back to his senses. She looked dazed, and stared at him in confusion, but he made himself step back, go back around the table, and sit down with it safely between them. It pained him to see how lovely she was, blushing with her hand at her mouth, where his lips had only just been. The look in her eyes was a devious plea to come back and have her – properly this time. He hid his face in his hands.

“Severus,?” she asked cautiously. “What’s wrong?”  
“What am I doing?” he ground out.  
“Up until a few moments ago, you were giving me the snog of a lifetime. I have no idea what you’re doing now, though.” She was making a valiant effort to sound unaffected, but the hand she had just placed on his shoulder was trembling.  
She hesitated, then asked, “I suppose you have second thoughts?”

“I –“ he began, then cleared his throat, “I don’t do this sort of thing. I don’t invite myself into a young woman’s home and then just have my way with her – I’m – acting like a lunatic.”  
“Severus,” she said softly, “I absolutely do not mind. In fact I’d very much prefer if you kept having your way with me.” Her fingers stroked along his jaw, hypnotisingly. How could he fight this?  
“Nymph, what are you doing to me?” he asked hoarsely.  
“Seducing you, I think,” she whispered.

He felt an acute sense of loss when her hand left his face. But when it went to the hem of her jumper, and pulled it up, exposing delicious expanses of pale skin, a most embarrassing needy sound escaped him. He struggled to catch his breath when she proceeded to sit in his lap. And when she then actually begged him to touch her, he could not resist. He stroked along those alluring lines, slid his palms over those gentle curves. His hands cupped her bra. She took it as a cue to unclasp it, so that there too his fingers brushed bare, infinitely sensitive skin. 

“I want you, Severus.” she murmured, further inflaming his blood.  
“You – you do realise where this is going?”  
“I hope I do.” She smiled slyly. It was beyond sinful.  
“Do you have a bedroom somewhere?” he asked, trying to keep his voice under control.  
She answered the question by taking him there.

***

Never in her life could Hermione have imagined Snape asking to kiss her. It was hard to imagine him asking anyone for permission for a kiss, let alone her. She had been flabbergasted. After her tactless fit of laughter, she’d been afraid his pride might have been hurt, that he’d tell her off, or just get up and leave, but she couldn’t possibly have pictured it leading to the most inspired snog she’d ever had.

And now she was leading him up the stairs, into her bedroom, hoping fervently that she hadn't left it in too horrifying a state of disarray. It hardly mattered, though. He had eyes only for her. There was a brief, breathless, hesitant moment where they stood inside, facing each other, eager to go further yet afraid to take the plunge. He moved first, bringing one hand up into her curls, tenderly. She leaned into his touch. He closed the distance between them and kissed the side of her neck. It made her head reel. 

"Look at me," he whispered. She obeyed, to find his eyes black with desire, burning with untold passion. She reached for him, pulled him to her, and felt her heart tremble with delight as she kissed him again. To be pressed up against him like this, relishing in his scent, his warmth, his taste - it was paradise. Every single aspect of him was just intoxicating, but not enough. She needed more. Their kisses gained a desperate flavour.

He gently guided her to the bed and she, considerably less gently, tried to pull him down with her. He didn't let her, but instead disentangled himself from her limbs and stood looming over her, chest heaving.  
"You - you are absolutely sure you want to -" he asked.  
"Why on earth would you think that I'm not?"  
"Because I am what I am," he said, gesturing down at himself. "I'm not the sort of man anyone like you ought to fall for."  
"Oh, but I am falling, very, very hard right now. I want you, Severus."

His long fingers brushed along her jaw, lingered on her lips.  
"I fear," he murmured, "there may be some outside influence steering us into this. I cannot imagine how else this situation could possibly be real."  
"I couldn't care less if there is."  
"And what of the consequences?"

Her eyes, up till then blissfully closed under the sensation of his touch, suddenly flashed open.  
"Oh!" she said. "Right! I should - um - take precautions."  
"I should have thought of that sooner," he muttered reproachfully, while she fumbled awkwardly for her wand. "You might have - I could have -"  
"Dwelling on could-have-beens gets you nowhere, my dad always says," she interrupted him.  
He stood back, unbearably distant all of a sudden.

"Severus, please," she said. "I want this very much. You and me, now, here. I - I think we'll both regret it very much if we stop now. More than we would if we continue."  
"You make a good argument," he said, "though in all honesty, I have some trouble thinking straight right now."  
"And why is that, I wonder?" she asked gently, pulling him down to her at last. His one hand nestled in her hair again, the other returned to tracing the outlines of her face.  
"Because you, my nymph, are bewitching me."  
"I swear I'm not doing it on purpose," she laughed.  
His smile was the softest she'd ever seen, until the smouldering desire from earlier returned in full force, and she surrendered in his embrace with a breathless moan.

***

"God, Severus."  
"Ye-es?" he drawled softly, briefly lifting his mouth from her throat for the occasion.  
"This is - so good - I can't believe I never thought of you like this - it's -"  
He covered her words in another searing kiss, groaned softly when she arched up against him.  
Then his mouth was drawn to her neck again, to that spot right behind her ear. Whenever he suckled that soft patch of skin, she made the most delightful noises.  
The movements of her wandering hands gnawed at his resolve to take this slowly. Her hands were restlessly clawing and pawing at his back, grabbing at clothing, seeking the heat of his skin.

"Please," she begged and he felt his hardness grow painful. He moved against her involuntarily, and she greedily welcomed his movement.  
"Please," she repeated.  
"What?" he asked hoarsely.  
"Clothes," she ground out, "Can we - please?"  
He pushed away her hands when she impatiently yanked at the front of his shirt, and bent down to kiss her again, hard. It was as if she melted underneath his touch. He felt a catch in his throat at her complete acceptance of him - until she grew irritated at his hesitation, and bucked up against him without any subtlety or reserve. He smiled against her lips, and then finally detached himself from her enough to discard the offending clothing.

Eyes dark with desire followed his every movement while he stripped. She drank in every exposed inch of his body with unadulterated eagerness. Various reasons why this surely couldn't be real presented themselves in his mind once again, and were summarily dismissed. She was unbuttoning her trousers, lifting her hips to shimmy them down. He was paralysed, watching, up until the point where her deft fingers moved to his trousers, and he couldn't keep his eyelids from fluttering shut at her touch. It had been too long - much too long. Fingers curled around him, and he stifled a groan. If he didn't do something, quickly, this might be over before it had even begun. 

Thankfully, she moved on, a hand brushing over his hip bone, a sigh of wonder escaping her lips.  
"I never knew," she whispered. She bent down to kiss his hip, and he groaned loudly, had to steady himself on the bed. She pulled back to look up at him.  
"Are you - are you okay, Severus?"  
He took a deep breath, looked down at her, and was lost again. He enfolded her in his arms, oblivious to all possible concerns, and kissed her with a desperation as if his life depended on it, and she whimpered with pleasure and urgent need. So it seemed only natural to roll over her, cradle her to him and then - blinding pleasure - so easily slip inside her. 

He could feel her, pulsing around him, so hot, so wet. Somewhere in the back of his mind a rabid fear was screaming that he was forgetting something vitally important, that he was engaging in pure insanity. She moaned out his name and writhed beneath him. He found himself moving, out of instinct, out of animal desire, without any conscious effort, and watched her give into ecstasy. The feeling of it was too much. Any effort at coherent thought evaporated. He just moved blindly, allowing himself to be consumed in white-hot flames, and finally perished with a strangled groan.


	5. Overdue Concerns and Painful Parting

She was basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, watching him from underneath half-lowered eyelids as he paced to and fro in her bedroom. Clearly, his state of mind wasn't quite as peaceful as hers. He had retrieved his wand from his clothes and, still naked, was muttering one spell after another, interspersed with expletives. Every once in a while his eyes rested on her, but he barely slowed his frantic pace.

There was something very sad about this, about him, denying the value of what they'd just had by desperately trying to find the catch. If she hadn't been so exquisitely satisfied, she'd have found it hard not to cry. If he at all noticed her objections, he was ignoring them completely. The tip of his wand glowed red, then orange, and he cried out, "What the hell is this!"  
"What is what?" she asked.  
"Us, obviously," he snapped, eyes flashing. "This ridiculous situation."  
She felt her heart sinking.

"I'm detecting elements that remind me of amortentia, but it can't be that, it's too subtle. And at the same time it's so blatantly obvious that I'm sure the answer is right in front of me, and I. Just. Can't. See it!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "There must be something, somewhere, that I'm missing."  
"But how could we possibly be under the influence of a love potion?" she asked. "I didn't make any potion like that, and I'm sure you wouldn't either. "  
"Of course not! And it isn't a potion. It reminds me of one, it has common indicators, but it isn't a potion."  
"Some kind of spell then?" 

"It would almost have to be," he said, resuming his restless pacing. "Tell me, from the moment you woke up, everything you've done today. Everything, anything that could be the cause of this."  
"Shouldn't it be something that involves you as well?"  
"Yes, yes, of course."  
"Then shouldn't we look into what you've done as well?"  
"Ugh. The only thing I've done that involves you is bringing back the cat - that is, until we - until -"  
"Albus," she interrupted. "That seems to be the only thing we have in common."

He froze. Seconds ticked past as he stared blankly ahead, and then slowly blinked. She saw his adam's apple bob up and down. Pensively, he said, “tell me, before your cat ran away, did something out of the ordinary happen?”  
“Not really. I had a bit of a spat with Ron, but –“  
“A spat involving his habit of coming through the floo unannounced?”  
“Well, yeah, I was busy at the time, and he couldn't get it into his head that I just wanted to be left alone to concentrate in peace and quiet.”  
“And he left with a bang and a clatter?”  
“And a big cloud of smoke, as usual.”

He sat down on the bed, and rubbed his jaw. “You didn’t happen to check if he hadn’t used too much floo powder, did you?”  
“Should I have?’  
“Hermione." He sighed deeply. "What happens if a magical fire is left to burn for too long?”  
Her mind flashed back to the courses on Defence against the Dark Arts - to him, in front of the class, a looming shape full of barely contained loathing. She struggled to focus. There was something in the section on magical creatures –  
“An ashwinder!” she said. “An ashwinder may be spawned from the fire.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “So my theory is that after your little discussion, you went straight back to work. The fire, containing too much floo powder, burnt too long, and an ashwinder, likely not a very large one, escaped from it.”  
“How is this relevant? My house hasn’t caught fire or anything, and I do believe that’s the main problem with ashwinders.”  
“True, ashwinder eggs are a notorious cause of house fires. However, do you not wonder why you have been spared?”

“I suppose – the ashwinder disappeared before it could lay eggs?”  
“Exactly. And why could that have been?”  
She gave him a nonplussed stare.  
"Your cat, Hermione."  
“Albus?” she asked. “What do you mean?”  
“It is my theory that your cat saw the ashwinder, and, being a cat, felt compelled to catch, kill, and subsequently devour it. As is to be expected, this caused a shock within his system, leading to his absconding. All the while the very magical substance of the ashwinder body was being digested and absorbed in his system, leading to certain side effects.”  
“What side effects? You make it sound like something horrible happened, but he looks fine.”

He passed a hand over his face in an infinitely tired, sad gesture. “I have long wondered why your cat sought me out. I believe I now know the answer. I am the only unattached male wizard living in your vicinity.”  
Her eyes widened. “Ashwinders,” she murmured,” aren’t those – aren’t ashwinder eggs used in love potions?”  
“Indeed,” he said flatly.  
Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised the full extent of what he was saying.  
He took in her deepening dismay with a dark scowl and continued, “It appears that we two have become victims of a magical accident, caused by your cat.”

***

It was like being plunged into a bucket of ice water. Just an accident. A mishap. The reason why she could look at this man and feel warm with love of him was a minor magical misfortune, undoubtedly easily corrected. She didn't want it to be corrected. She didn't want to look at him and see nothing but a middle-aged man with dental problems, instead of this dark dream of a lover. How could she see his hair and not want to run her fingers through it, see his mouth and not want to kiss him, see his hands and not want them touching her? It was a grotesque injustice. She couldn't suppress her tears any longer.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he cried out. "Get a hold of yourself, woman!"  
"But I don't - I don't want you to leave," she sniffed pathetically.  
"Of course not," he said, "we've both been hugging that feline like a pair of soppy fools. I can only imagine what it's done to our systems. There's no precedent for this, nothing whatsoever. No-one ever even conceived of the possibility - a cat eating an ashwinder, of all things!"  
"I don't care why it is, I just want you to stay. Please."

"You are being absurdly sentimental. When this effect wears off, and it will, trust me, you'll regret this immensely."  
"I don't want it to wear off."  
"Oh, I can understand that. Nothing quite as unpleasant as the aftermath of having committed a gross stupidity."  
The air of the silent room felt stale and thick in the aftermath of his words. She waited until he looked up again, his face pale and twisted with some emotion she couldn't identify.  
"So this," she said, "what we just had - was nothing but a stupidity to you."  
"I should have known better. Except - you are so lovely. So god damned lovely." He turned away violently. "That only makes it all the more unforgivable." 

She felt forlorn as he gathered his clothes from where they were strewn over the floor, felt defeated while he hurriedly dressed, never looking at her again.  
"Severus, please," she asked, "promise me one thing."  
"What?" he snapped coldly.  
"When it's - when it's worn off. When you can't detect any magical influence anymore, if you still - feel - something for me, come back. Don't think I don't want you. Come back."  
"This is beyond ridiculous."  
"Promise me."  
"Fine. For all it's worth, I promise that, should I still harbour these ludicrous 'feelings' for you after this incident is over, I will return. And now, for Merlin's sake, stop being so bloody maudlin, get yourself together, and stop moping. I can't stand the sight of you snivelling like a toddler."

He hesitated in the doorway, looking back at her, naked on the bed, face in tears, neck bruised where his mouth had sucked too eagerly. For a moment, she thought he'd change his mind, but then he was gone. His footsteps down the stairs were loud curses. The slamming of the front door a final insult. She lay back, closed her eyes, and wished to exist no more.


	6. For I Have Promises to Keep

It was a beautiful evening in June. Hermione sat on a deck chair in her garden, a glass of wine by her elbow. Her fingers softly brushed over the shimmering silver fur of the cat in her lap. Above her the sky gradually grew darker, until there was just a purple gleam left over the west horizon. The air was still pleasantly warm, balmy even. Some flowers in her garden were blooming obscenely, spreading a faint sweet aroma.

It was all in all, Snape thought, just the setting for one of those nauseating muggle romance movies. However, the romantic heroine in this story might not be all that happy to see him. He had been driven here by desperation, and by a promise she'd extorted from him earlier. But now, watching her from the shadows, he couldn't bring himself to take the final step and face his supreme humiliation. She muttered something to the cat, but he wasn't close enough to understand it. The scene was too peaceful to defile it with his presence. 

He turned to walk away. And hesitated. Turned back. For weeks the image of her face in tears had haunted him, dominating his thoughts at the most inconvenient moments. And then there were the memories of her body against his, of his name on her lips. Or simply, scents that reminded him of his brief time with her, a particular colour in a potion that reminded him of the glowing brown of her eyes. He kept feeling like a love-sick teenager, and even regardless of promises made, something had to be done about that.

Every test he'd conducted had the same result. After one week he was and remained completely free of any ashwinder influence. He'd read up on related incidents, with increasing desperation, and the various sources he'd consulted unanimously agreed. The effects of ashwinder exposure were highly transitory. They might be more lasting in the cat itself, but he hadn't touched the creature since, and he'd scoured his cottage from attic to basement to make sure no residual elements could possibly remain. All in vain. He cleared his throat to make his presence known.

She froze, the cat scarpered. Every bird in the garden simultaneously went quiet, as if no living being wanted to be involved in the scene. He steeled himself and walked towards her.  
"Severus?"  
So many things he could read in her inflections. Surprise, fear, and something else - not rage though, thankfully. Not yet, in any case.  
She got up, stepped towards him, until they were facing each other in the shadows.

"Please tell me you haven't been experimenting with ashwinders," she said.  
"Um - no," he said nonplussed.  
"Good."  
He didn't know what to say, and the silence was stretching into an increasing awkwardness.  
"You look lovely," he blurted out. She laughed.  
"You look dark, mostly," she retorted. "Shall we go inside so I can have a better look?"  
He fought the urge to refuse, and let her lead the way. 

***

She had felt it again, acutely, from the moment she'd spotted him in the garden, a dark outline against the embers of the sky. How much stronger still the effect when in the light of her living room she could see every single line on his face, each one telling its own story of past regrets. The few steel strands in his jet black hair shone in the dim light, and his unreadable eyes glittered as he watched her. How peculiar it was that there couldn't be more difference between the two men she had loved. Her ginger friend was an open book, and in it was written a simple delight in life and all it offered. But Severus was a complete mystery to her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice loud in the quiet room.  
"Forgive me," he rasped.  
"Whatever for?"  
"For imposing myself on you, again."  
She shook her head. "I don't get it. Why should you come over here just to apologize for coming over? What's the matter?"

"My intrusion in your garden does not seem to bother you."  
"Well, no, but I would like to know to what it is that I owe this pleasure."  
He eyed her sceptically.  
"You actually mean that. You - enjoy my presence here."  
"Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"  
When he didn't reply, she continued, "It is wonderful to see you again. I was afraid that your stupid pride would get in the way and you'd never ‒ But here you are. I just wish you'd tell me what's on your mind. Did something happen?"

"I made you a promise."  
Underneath the carefully trained neutrality, he radiated embarrassment.  
"You mean you - You actually do still want me?" she gasped.  
"Shock," he said dryly. "Well, at least it's better than ridicule."  
"You didn't think I'd laugh at you, did you? Oh. Oh god. You did." She laughed. He glared at her malevolently.

"Don't be silly! How can you not see it, Severus? I love you, you ridiculous man."  
He staggered back.  
"Please," she said urgently, misinterpreting the movement. "Don't leave. I mean it. I'm not making fun of you. Just - don't leave."  
"How could I?" he declared. "With you in this state still. It must be the cat. I must have underestimated the duration of the effect."

"Oh for God's sake," she cried out, and boldly invaded his personal space to press a kiss to his lips. That effectively silenced him. "Don't be dense, Severus. Any effects of the ashwinder incident have obviously long gone. It's simply that, before it happened, I'd never thought of you as anything other than a professor, more an object than a man, really. But now that I have known you as a lover, I can't just erase that knowledge. You are wonderful, and I want you."  
"You are mad."  
"As is the nature of love. So tell me, Severus, what brings you here?"

"Ah. Um." He avoided her eyes.  
"It's not that - I don't want to make any demands on you," she hesitated. "I just wanted you to know how I feel. So you can make an informed decision, if you will."  
"I do - want - you," he said, after an interminable excruciating pause. "It's just - the consequences -"  
"There are spells for that, you know."

He dismissed her joke with an irritated wave of his hand.  
"I meant the public consequences, should you acknowledge me as - as your lover."  
"I couldn't care less."  
"No. You're not thinking this through. You must face the facts: I am twenty years your senior, I have the most sordid past imaginable, and the press love nothing more than to dig up the very worst about me."  
"Or if they can't dig it up, make it up."  
"True. And you, dear girl, will be exposed to all of that."

"I've had worse." She shrugged. "And I'd rather wrestle the Prophet's fabrications any day than have to stand here waiting for you to make up your mind."  
It came out a good deal more unfriendly than she'd intended, but he wasn't glaring at her. In fact, he was as close to wringing his hands in despair as she'd ever seen him. She sighed.  
"Fine," she said. "Don't decide anything. Just stay here with me now. Tomorrow will be another day for you to deal with this. Or else the day after. I don't care. Just stay."

"I can do that," he said cautiously.  
"Good. Can you also hold me?"  
He could, and did. She sighed again, very differently this time. It was beyond wonderful to have his scent and warmth surrounding her again. He cleared his throat.  
"How about," he said, "we go for a walk tomorrow, together, in a very public space. And then the day afterwards, when the paper is out, you tell me if you still want this."  
"Sounds like a good compromise."


	7. Confessions, and Their Consequence

Diagon Alley was full of the usual mixture of the obnoxious and the oblivious, but this time Severus Snape didn't care. For the first time in years, he was openly walking in a busy street, and next to him pranced a young woman, happy as a foal on its first day out in the meadow. Her happiness was contagious. And though it was an unpleasant reminder of just how painfully young she was, at least it distracted him from thinking of the night before. 

Better not to dwell on that, on his trembling, wanting, and never daring. She had offered him the choice of the couch or her bed. He'd chosen the coward's option and lain awake in the night on the uncomfortably short piece of furniture, rehashing the many reasons why he was a complete idiot, and imagining her, upstairs, naked, or perhaps dressed in some old shirt or pyjamas. Was she sleeping or also awake? His only consolation had been the cat, who had jumped onto his chest not long past midnight, and stayed until the morning.

"You know," he said, "if you promise to stop bouncing about like an elasticized puppy, I could take you to a rather exclusive little bookshop a couple of streets away."  
"I am being a bit too enthusiastic, aren't I?" she said, adopting a more reserved pose. Her small hand slipped onto his arm, along the inside of the elbow, blatantly intimate. He let it stay there.

They were almost outside Diagon Alley when he felt her tense.  
"Oh God," she murmured, barely moving her lips. "It's the coleoptera."  
"The what?" He stopped and stared at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"  
"Rita Skeeter," she hissed.  
"The coleoptera?" he asked again.  
"I'll explain later." She squared her shoulders and, holding his arm in a vice grip, marched forward towards their newshound nemesis.

The ensuing conversation between the two women was a fast ping-pong match with a good deal of subtext, which made him suspect the conscience of his beguiling nymph was perhaps not as clean as he had thought it to be. It didn't just smell of blackmail, it reeked of it. He found it highly amusing.  
At one point she looked up at him with the slyest of smiles, and he felt a shiver of desire run through him. The flicker of frustration in Skeeter's eyes told him that she'd noticed, and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. It was glorious.

"So," he said once they'd left the bedraggled reporter behind, "does 'now' qualify as the 'later' you referred to?"  
"Sure."  
"Then would you care to tell me what it is I've missed in that particular exchange?"  
"Skeeter's an illegal animagus. Takes the shape of a beetle."  
"Of the coleoptera family. I see."  
"Exactly. And I've been sort of threatening her to tell particular people about that, if the things she writes about me should get too unpleasant."

"You, dear girl, are cheating."  
"Hey, we agreed I'd face the reaction of the press. How I'd do it is entirely my business."  
Her eyes were alight with mischievous fire.  
"I could kiss you right now," he confessed.  
She laughed out loud, grabbed his arm again, and dragged him forward.  
"Bookshop first, snogging later," she said.

"You've really got your priorities straight."  
"Oh yes, books comes first, boyfriends later."  
He laughed incredulously. "Boyfriends?"  
"Better get used to it."  
Snape struggled not to start laughing like an idiot in public view. He felt as giddy as a flight of starlings.

***

Had he not pointed it out for her, she would have walked right past the bookshop. It had no name, and it was impossible to see anything through the grimy window. There were some scribbled cardboard signs stuck to the door. "No free access," it said, and, "no credit cards," "sickles only." Severus winked at her and went into the shop. She followed, feeling a bit light-headed. Inside were walls of books up to the ceiling, with narrow passages in between, and in the middle of all that a dusty little man behind a counter, who refused to acknowledge their existence.

"How does one find anything in here? There's so many."  
"You could ask him. Or cast a detection spell. Or try to figure out the logic of how they're placed."  
"If there is any."  
"Oh, I'm sure there is. It might just take a few days to figure it out."  
She felt very much tempted by the idea, and dove between the shelves, brushing the leather spines with her forefinger while attempting to decipher their titles.

She hadn't been at this enjoyable past-time for long when she felt his arm snaking around her waist, pulling her closer against his hard, warm body.  
"I'm supposed to be looking for books, Severus, not snuggling up to you."  
He stroked back the hair from her neck and languidly licked the outer shell of her ear.  
"Stop it," she hissed.  
"And if I don't want to?" he murmured.  
"Oh no, we are not shagging in a bookstore," she said adamantly.  
"Now why would I be interested in anything quite so - uncouth?"  
"Then what are you interested in?"  
"Power, my nymph," he purred, "the power to have you hot and bothered, blushing and wanting."  
"You'll pay for this later."  
"I sincerely hope so."

She found herself back outside the shop in no time, holding several volumes on Vedic mythology that she barely even remembered buying.  
"Shall we go home then?" she asked.  
"Gladly. If the lady would but take my hand, I shall take us there."

To her delight, by home he had meant his own place. To be more precise, he had apparated them directly to his bedroom.  
"Whoa," she said, "once you've made up your mind, you don't exactly beat about the bush, do you?"  
He flashed her a grin, then pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair. His robes were rough underneath her hands, the warmth of his body radiating through them.  
"I will no longer fight this," he murmured. "It is too good, too downright beautiful. I do need you. I do want you. I have wanted you badly, ever since that night. What use would it be to keep suffering under this desire? If you will have me, I will not resist."

She nuzzled the side of his neck, breathing him in deeply. A hand slipped underneath her shirt, large and cool on her heated skin. The line of his jaw was fascinating, she thought, so she let her lips skim over its stubble, all the way up to his ear. His breathing quickened.  
"Shall we?" she asked. 

He turned her face up to his and kissed her slowly, long-fingered hands framing her cheeks. Every move of his mouth was careful, but passionate, and she could feel her legs start to tremble. With a desperate sound, she deepened the kiss. He let his hands wander, and soon his mouth drifted away from hers, lingering here and there on tender skin. He was quickly and efficiently reducing her to a whimpering mess. It was a blessing when her clothes came off at last, so she could relish in the feel of cool air and hot skin moving against her own. 

His bed was narrow and hard, but she couldn't have cared less. Not when she had his naked body underneath hers, and complete freedom to let her hands linger where they pleased, while his smouldering eyes took in every move. She made it her challenge to make his eyelids close with pleasure, and succeeded when she kissed lower, nuzzling the sparse hair on his chest, and lower still, her breasts brushing past his erection. His hands were digging into the sheets. She let her lips slide down his length, but was interrupted by a strangled, "No - please. I want to - have you - not just -"

She readily obliged, moving up his body to kiss him again, relishing in the way his hips rose to grind against her. The thought that she was the one doing this to him, that she was breaking his self-control, bringing him to the brink - it was intoxicating. But even more so were his hands, strong and nimble, moving down her body, holding her hips against him as he ground up. The slight clumsiness involved in actually getting him to enter her was quickly forgotten at the blissful feeling of his hardness moving within her. When she saw his features twisted in ecstasy beneath her, the world faded into utter rapture. 

Afterwards, he lay with her, pensively tracing patterns on her hip while she took in her surroundings.  
"It's weird," she murmured. "It feels so good to be here, familiar almost, and yet I barely know anything about you. About you really, I mean."

“What do you want to know?” he asked softly.  
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Did you just give me free rein to ask you anything?” she asked incredulously.  
He chuckled. "Do try to keep it to the point. I would like to sleep sometime too tonight.” She giggled.  
"It's a bit early for sleeping, wouldn't you think? Besides, are you sure you don't want to do other things as well tonight?"  
"Definitely. But give me some time to recover, will you? Unlike yourself, I'm not exactly in my twenties anymore."

“Ok, then." She took a deep breath, and said, "The Prophet had had all sorts of theories, but none of them sounded remotely true. How did you really survive? I mean – when Nagini…”  
“You mean the unfortunate events in the shrieking shack when you believed me dead. Actually, to be honest, I thought I was done for myself. But Dumbledore’s flaming chicken intervened.”  
He sounded a bit bitter.  
“Fawkes?”  
“Who else? Wept me to health, flew me to safety. I spent quite some time hiding after that, for various obvious reasons.”

“But in the meantime they did award you a double Order of Merlin…”  
“That I have yet to go claim. I can’t quite seem to bother.”  
“You don’t care about it?”  
“It’s empty. It doesn’t mean anything, except perhaps that some people feel guilty about treating me badly – but they had every right to do so, back then.” His chest rose against her back when he sighed.

“Does it still bother you, what you had to do?”  
“Yes.” It sounded cold and final. But he still seemed as relaxed as before, so she decided to try her luck.  
“So what did you have to do?“  
“More things than I care to enumerate. Especially here and now. Some things you already know, though. Like when Dumbledore ordered me to murder him. A masterful move of his part. I never wanted to do it, but he forced my hand, and I hated him for it. Hated him enough to be able to do it, ironically.”

***

She was very quiet after his confession, but showed no signs of wanting to run. All in all, better than he could possibly have expected. He bent forward to kiss her ear, and she wriggled even closer against him. He almost felt at ease, until she asked her next question.  
“Why did you join the Death Eaters?”  
“That old question again," he muttered. "I believe it is because I am an intelligent man."  
"What -"  
"Let me explain. An intelligent man knows when to run, when to fight, and when to bide his time. To run from the Dark Lord would have meant a lifetime of running. That is folly. To fight the Dark Lord, at that point, equalled immediate painful death. Only a complete idiot would have done so. Therefore I bided my time.”  
“But you – worked with him, didn’t you? I mean – didn’t you have to do things –“

“Yes, indeed.” He felt his insides twisting at the thought. “At the time, I saw nothing but advantages. He allowed me vengeance on the tormentors of my schooldays. I wouldn't dare intervene if he was going to kill one of the men that had relentlessly been after me, the one that had stolen the –“ he swallowed, and then ground out the final words “- the woman I loved.”  
There was a long silence. 

Hermione was very quiet in his arms, and when she spoke again it was very timidly, almost frightened.  
“Do you love her still?”  
He gulped slowly. This was difficult.  
“I think it would be impossible for me not to,” he confessed at last. “I seem to be coming to terms with it, these days. Since my brush with death. I barely even remember her face. In fact, when I try to envision her, I see ‑“ he scowled “- Potter’s face instead.”  
“Harry?” she asked incredulously.  
“Indeed. It is quite disconcerting. It also set me thinking. I have paid my debts. Her son is safe. Now let her rest in peace with her husband. I will no longer begrudge him her love.”

He carefully, hesitantly, stroked from her shoulder down to her hip, as if that way he could say the one thing he couldn't bring himself to add to his admission. She waited patiently.  
“But I’m guessing you asked this question for a very personal reason, didn’t you?” he asked at last.  
“You're wondering how I could love you, while all my life has been devoted to another?"  
She nodded.  
"So am I,” he admitted softly. “I do not understand it. But then is there anything we can understand about love? You've said it yourself, it's madness. Still, I do think that I may well have become quite pathologically insane."  
"That," she giggled, "is the strangest way of saying you love someone I've ever heard in my life. But I'll take it." She turned around in his arms to face him.  
"In that case, if milady has no objections, I shall proceed to take her," he retorted. Bubbling with laughter, she pressed her lips to his.


	8. Epilogue

It was a tropical night in August. For the first time since he'd moved into the new house, the windows had been left open. Strictly speaking, Albus could go outside any time he wanted to. But he didn't quite feel comfortable doing that just yet. Inside was full of the smell of his master and mistress, so much more reassuring than the strange, wild scents that came drifting in on the midnight breeze. He sat on the window sill, staring out into the night. When a cry from upstairs interrupted his quiet contemplations, he didn't even twitch. 

"Oh god, Severus!" his witch was screaming. It was followed by a low chuckle. Albus did enjoy the particular timbre of the master's voice. Not quite as shrill as that of the mistress at times.  
"Liked that, did you?" the master said.  
"More? Please?" she begged in return. So peculiar the human tendency to never get enough of mating, Albus thought. Just get it over with and go about your business, much safer. Before you know it, your mate would be scratching you all over otherwise. But the master did not seem to mind that.

He was telling her things, too low even for Albus' keen ears. Whatever it was, she clearly liked it, because she got a good deal louder again. Albus swished his tail to and fro, and hoped they wouldn't keep this up much longer. He really just wanted to sit quietly and enjoy the wind rushing through the trees, and the occasional squeak from some small animal that would make his mouth water. No use trying to interrupt them though. He'd tried that before, and they'd just ignored him completely. Such an odd sight it had been, those two humans with their limbs all entangled. 

No, Albus preferred to just wait it out. Eventually the quiet would return, a long night of soft breathing and slowly cooling air, and then in the morning a fresh bowl of food and two drowsy humans to pet him and call him the prettiest cat in the world. As they should. He folded his front paws under his chest, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Comments are always immensely appreciated.


End file.
